


Never Pushed Our Luck, Like We Wanted To

by sleepingheartsawake



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingheartsawake/pseuds/sleepingheartsawake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It becomes a thing, but not really, because they don't have things. And she has a boyfriend. And the moms would kill him. Brandon and Callie, because those two are just so beautifully tragic. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Pushed Our Luck, Like We Wanted To

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own The Fosters characters. Title is from Joshua Radin's "Cross That Line" which I just recently found and absolutely love. Song in the story is "Dream a Little Dream of Me" from The Mamas and the Papas.

The guitar sits in the corner of the room she shares with Mariana.

She doesn’t touch it; she can’t.

Touching it means playing it and playing it means creating songs, elusive melodies, music that echoes through the small house, pulsating gently around the corners of the narrow hallway and pushing right up against his door.

She’s not sure how strong his door is.

She’s not sure it won’t break. She’s not sure the songs won’t seep in through the wood, under the frame, between the cracks.

And she can’t take that chance.

 

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He sits too close to her when they all pile into the car.

His leg doesn’t have to touch hers.

But it does.

He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything.

And it doesn’t. He pretty much laid it all out there for her and she not only slowly backed away, she practically took off running.

He’s a Foster. Fosters learn from their mistakes.

 

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But then there’s Saturday mornings, when everyone is still asleep except her.

Not even Jude is awake, casually flipping through the morning cartoons, a bowl of cereal spilling over onto his pajama pants.

It’s just her and the early morning light and a glass of orange juice on the front porch. She loves this time of day.

Everything is still quiet and peaceful, two things that the Foster home is not often.

She loves the sounds, she loves the busyness, the fights over the last chocolate chip cookie and the overlapping conversations around the dinner table, but sometimes she just needs this.

He finds her and his presence startles her so much that she almost falls off her perch on the side of the porch.

“Mind if I join you?”

She lays her head back and closes her eyes and she might be smiling ever so slightly as the sun warms her face.

“Only if you don’t talk.”

 

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It becomes a thing, but not really, because they don’t have things.

And she has a boyfriend.

And the moms would kill him.

So he carefully places her in a box in his mind. It’s a titanium box with an enormous lock, it has to be.

He mentally labels it.

_Sister_.

No, that doesn’t work. Mariana is his sister. Callie is . . . well, something else entirely.

_Friend_.

He contemplates that one for a moment. It could work. If he could ever train his mind to stop looking at the way the early morning sun highlights her brown hair with visions of red and golden chestnut.

If he could ever sit next to her without remembering that time he touched her leg as her fingers meticulously travelled over the guitar strings.

Memory sucks sometimes, he decides.

After a few moments, she turns to him and says, “If you keep looking at me, I’m going to ban you from the porch.”

“Oh, it’s your porch now?”

She tilts her chin up. “Yes, I found it first.”

He laughs and decides that the titanium box, the one that he’s managed to fit all of her into, which was no small feat since he sees her and feels her everywhere, that box is not labeled _Sister_ or _Friend_ , but _Someday, Maybe._

 

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She dates Wyatt because he is a smart ass and is gloriously uncomplicated.

He talks to her during lunch when people can see and she decides that maybe, that’s enough.

And he’s not a bad kisser, so there’s that.

But even as they walk along the beach and her hand is tucked into his, she knows this is a temporary fix, a show, a performance.

She doesn’t want to admit who the performance is for, because that would mean admitting how much he is affecting her all the time. He’s everywhere she turns and she shouldn’t be surprised because they live together, of course he’d be where she is.

But that’s just it. He is always where she is.

She closes her math book and quietly walks down the stairs and she doesn’t even know why she’s going except that he’s there.

And he is. Sitting on the couch, playing video games with Jesus and Jude and the whole scene is so normal, she thinks she might cry.

She inhales quickly when she realizes that maybe he’s not the only one making an effort here.

 

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They continue on like this. He has his box.

She has Wyatt.

And somehow, amidst all of this, they become friends.

They work together on a group project. The moms hang their paper containing a bright red A on the fridge, as if it’s some triumph of the familial spirit.

She turns seventeen and he buys her a necklace, a thin silver chain that houses a small silver circle. He decides not to give it to her though. It’s too personal, too revealing, too close to _everything_. He gives her a journal instead, a brown moleskine, and she looks around her party to see that no one is paying any attention, before throwing her arms around his neck.

He plays at an open mic night and doesn’t tell anyone, but somehow she finds out and shows up. And his nerves seem to evaporate when he sees her and the crowd actually applauds and he places the moment as one of his favorites ever.

And they allow themselves one dance together at prom. An old song, one his grandma used to listen to on vinyl. It starts off slow and they are instantly reminded of Mariana’s Quinceañera, with his hand awkwardly on her waist and her fingers fidgeting within his, but then the song picks up tempo and he starts to sway. She doesn’t look at him. So he starts to softly sing,

“Stars fading but I linger on, dear, Still craving your kiss, I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear,  
Just saying this, Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you, Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you, But in your dreams whatever they be, Dream a little dream of me.”

“I haven’t heard you sing in a while,” she says.

He shrugs. “My gram loved this song.”

“I do too,” she says.

And they both know. This is as perfect of a moment as they are going to get.

 

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He slaps the flyer down on the table and proclaims he is going.

His mom takes one look at it and says they will discuss it.

“It’s the school lock-in, mom. It’s not that big of a deal.”

His mom exchanges a look with Lena and he rolls his eyes because this is a school-sponsored event. And it’s the end of his junior year and it’s been a long year, if he was being honest. He could use a little fun.

They agree to let him go and even help him dig out an old sleeping bag, except that they end up pulling out two.

“I only need one,” he says.

“Yeah, but I am going to need one,” she says, coming up behind him.

“Oh.”

She grins. “Yeah. Oh.”

Which is how they find themselves in the middle of the school hallway at 1:30 in the morning.

“No Wyatt tonight?” he asks, looking around.

She shakes her head and stares at a spot on the floor. “Broke up.”

“Huh.”

“Please save the lectures.”

“What lectures?” he asks.

“The ones that I know are on the tip of your tongue,” she says, turning her steely gaze on him.

“No lectures here,” he says and he can’t help but notice how uncomfortable she looks.

His friend Kevin calls to him from the gym doorway, “Yo Brandon. You coming for some four-on-four?”

He turns back to her and makes a decision. A split second decision, really. One that involves no thinking whatsoever.

“Nah, I’m good,” he calls back. “You want to get out of here?” he says to her.

“Get out of here? I think we’re supposed to stay in. Hence the lock- _in_ ,” she states.

He shakes his head and motions for her to follow him toward to a janitors’ closet. Inside is a ladder, one that he has come to know well. He climbs it, pushing the door at the top open and gesturing for her to follow.

“How did you know--?” she asks once she is standing on the roof next to him, looking out over the dimly lit parking lot.

“Detention one Saturday for mouthing off. Had to help Janitor Steve with some roofing project he was working on. Don’t look so surprised. I told you I’m not always so good.”

She smiles and nudges his shoulder.

He nudges back and suddenly it’s like the box is threatening to break open.

And Wyatt’s gone.

And everything could change, couldn’t it?

 “What if . . .” he starts.

“What if what?” she asks.

He looks at his watch.

“It’s 1:45 in the morning. We’re supposed to be home at 7:00 a.m.”

“Okay. . .”

“So what if for the next five plus hours, I’m just Brandon and you’re just Callie and we can just be us?”

She studies him for a moment. “And at 7:00?”

“At 7:00, we drive home and collapse in our beds and when we wake up, this will all be just a memory.”

She smiles a little to herself. “A dream.”

“Exactly.”

“Won’t this make it all harder?” she says after a moment’s pause.

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

She exhales and looks directly at him. “What does ‘just being us’ mean?”

“Whatever we want it to.” He knows that she is still so guarded after all this time, but he also can tell that he’s wearing her down.

And he is. She can feel any resolve she might have had crumbling.

“Okay.”

 

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“I bet you I can throw this rock into that second row of parking spots,” she says.

“No way.”

She tosses it and it effortlessly lands where she directed.

She turns to him triumphantly. “You’re up.”

“I’d say I throw like a girl, but you’re a girl and I’ve just seen how you can throw, so how about, I throw like a ninety year old man?” he says and she laughs.

“I need proof.”

He pulls his arm back and pitches the rock out as hard as he possibly can . . . only to have it drop fifty feet short of hers.

“I win,” she says. “Tell.”

He sighs. “First kiss was with Shelly Wilson. Eighth grade. Seven minutes in heaven in the closet at Troy Spencer’s birthday party.”

“And?”

“And the light was out and I might have missed her mouth the first time?” he says quickly.

“That amazing!” she says, trying to contain her laugh.

“Yeah, well she didn’t think so. Now you.”

She stiffens up then. “Um . . .”

And he realizes he’s hit a nerve. That’s one thing about this girl who has come to dominate so many of his thoughts. He will never know when he’s going to step on a landmine, when he’s going to accidently trigger something from her past.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says, his hand reaching out to touch her arm.

She looks into his eyes and realizes that of all the people in her life, he has never judged her, not once. Well, maybe once, over Wyatt, but she suspects that was more about jealousy and less about judgment. So she says, “No, I want to tell you. Is that okay?”

“Of course.”

“That boy I told you about, my former foster brother. It was him. We were home alone with Jude, who was in the other room, coloring, and we were talking and hanging out and he just reached over and kissed me. I didn’t know what to do or how to act, or if I should pull away, because I was twelve and I didn’t know what to feel. So I kissed him back,” she stops then. “I don’t know, I guess I thought that this was what they make those Disney movies about, you know? I didn’t realize then that I’m not the princess. And that the prince is a jackass.”

“I’m sorry, Callie.”

She shrugs. “I’m the wiser for it.”

“Are you?” he asks. He knows he shouldn’t. But this is their five hours. This is the just us time.

Her eyes grow wide. “Maybe.”

He steps closer to her then and stretches his fingers before slowly reaching out and taking her hand. She doesn’t pull away, because honestly, she doesn’t want to.

“I know we buried all this,” he says, quietly.

She looks up to the sky where tiny white stars speckle the blue canvas. It’s so big and expansive and they are just two little people. What does it really matter? What does anything matter? In less than five hours the slate will be wiped clean anyway, right?

“Let’s unbury it,” she responds, just as quietly.

“Are you sure?”

“Does the 7:00 rule still apply?” she asks.

He nods.

And somehow that nod is all she needs. She steps forward and places her free hand behind his head, pulling it towards her as her mouth crashes into his and his hands find her waist, moving her closer and closer to him.

Her tongue pushes into his mouth and she can tell he’s a little surprised that she is the one taking the lead here, but he had to have known that she was struggling as much as he was. He had to have seen it in her eyes. It matched the look in his.

She pulls back when she needs to breathe and his hand keeps running through and over her hair and she says, “Is this okay?”

“Okay?” he almost chokes out. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Me too,” she says.

“Really?”

And she realizes that he really doesn’t have any idea what he does to her. Doesn’t see the depths to which she has had to plunge to keep it all hidden. Maybe what it all comes down to is that she is a better actor than he is.

She smirks a bit as she thinks this.

“What are you smiling at?” he asks, a smile tugging on his own lips.

But she just shakes her head and bites her lip.

“Don’t do that,” he groans.

“What?” she asks.

“Bite your lip. You always do that and it drives me insane.”

She laughs. “Fine, then you need to stop staring at me.”

“What?”

“I almost lose it every time you’re looking at me. Because you look at me with this one certain look and it’s like you can see every part of me and I can’t handle it.”

“I didn’t realize I was doing that,” he says.

“Oh you didn’t realize you were--“ she mocks, but only for a moment because he reaches forward and kisses her again.

The minutes tick slowly away.

 

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“Bout time you got up, sleepyhead,” Jude says when she stumbles down the stairs, before turning back to setting the table.

“What time is it?”

“Almost 5:30,” Mariana says, from the counter as she puts a second coat on her right hand.

She sits clumsily at the table and looks around as Jesus, Lena, and Stef bring food from the kitchen into the dining room.

“Mariana, no nail polish in the kitchen. Brandon, dinner,” Stef yells up the stairs.

She closes her eyes and when she opens them, he’s appeared at the table opposite her.

They start passing dishes and Lena says, “So how was it? Did you two have fun?”

He looks at her and it’s like every look he’s ever given her multiplied times ten.

She bites her lip and his gaze only grows stronger.

“It was fun,” she says, slowly, which seems to snap him out of his daze.

“Yeah, I’m glad we went,” he replies. “Jude, can you pass the green beans?”

They turn back to their plates.

 

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Later she’ll play the guitar for the first time in months.

And she’ll hear his piano keys echoing down the hall.

* * *

End.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing. Love to all.


End file.
